


The Riviera Life

by latin_cat



Category: Blake et Mortimer | Blake and Mortimer, Father Brown (2013), Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Friends In Crime, Friends With Benefits, Implied Relationships, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latin_cat/pseuds/latin_cat
Summary: In the world of International Crime, like any other, there are friends and competitors. And sometimes friends who are competitors. Either way, it pays to observe professional courtesies.With apologies to E. P. Jacobs, G. K. Chesterton, and Hergé.
Relationships: Father Brown/M. Hercule Flambeau, M. Hercule Flambeau/Colonel Olrik, Philip Mortimer/Colonel Olrik
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Riviera Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [le_russe_satan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_russe_satan/gifts).



> Two Internationally renowned criminals, both Continental, both roughly contemporary with each other. Short fic for le_russe_satan. Because I warned you I would do it.

The hotel bar was mostly empty, but then he had not really expected any different. Indeed, Flambeau reflected as he approached the counter with a relaxed, casual gait, though there were plenty of establishments along the Riviera catering to the better class of (i.e. well-monied) traveller, there were few that could guarantee a certain degree of exclusivity. And there were only a certain number of clients in the world who both required it, and could afford it. Notoriety could of course get you so far. But money talked louder.

Fortunately, Hercule Flambeau had both - as did the man already seated at the bar. Flambeau didn’t need to see his face to know it was him. To him the short, sleek black hair smoothed back into a slightly old-fashioned patent leather style, the well-muscled neck, broad shoulders and military-straight back were as distinctive as any calling card.

He did not look up as Flambeau seated himself on the vacant stool next to him, but continued in quiet contemplation of his drink as Flambeau ordered his own from the immediately attentive steward. Only when the steward is gone does the other man speak.

'Been a while, my friend.'

'I’ve been busy,' Flambeau says simply. His companion’s French is excellent, though the thief knows for certain he is not a Frenchman. 'As, it seems, so have you.'

'Such is the price of success.' The man reaches into his jacket pocket, takes out a plain gold cigarette case and offers one to Flambeau. The thief helps himself, and waits patiently as the other man fits his own cigarette to an elegant gold holder and accepts the steward’s offer of a light. Whilst he notes both the cigarette case and holder are in and of themselves worth a small fortune, Flambeau would never dream of stealing from this man. It would, quite literally, be the last thing he ever did on earth. But still, he cannot allow the fellow to have it all his own way.

'I managed to get past your guard dog, then,' Flambeau comments innocently. He had seen the six foot blond gorilla with a smashed nose loitering outside the hotel casino, blending in with the legitimate house muscle, all of whom looking uncomfortable in evening dress. 'You might want to retire him and opt for a newer model.'

It’s a cheap dig, but a valid one. Unexpectedly, though, the other man merely smirks around his cigarette holder.

'Oh, Sharkey saw you,' he says, amusement clear in his voice. 'He had orders to let you in.'

Flambeau looks sharply at his companion and narrows his eyes. 'You knew I was here?'

'I was almost certain of it. The great Bianca Castafiore is summering here before her gala performance at the Grand Opera, bringing with her, amongst other treasures, the fabled emerald presented to her by the Maharajah of Gopal. Why wouldn’t you be here?'

Flambeau taps a clump of ash off the end of his cigarette into the tray, irritated but, despite himself, impressed.

'I might have been in disguise,' he says, almost petulantly.

'So might I.'

And yet they both knew they would not be. _W_ _ell,_ Flambeau concedes. _O_ _ne all._

'I trust you have no designs on the emerald yourself?' he asks, neither confirming nor denying it.

The other man waves a hand in airy dismissal. 'Not in the least. Nor, for that matter, anything else. I am on holiday.'

Flambeau actually laughs. The other man quirks an eyebrow.

'Disbelieve me if you wish. But with the conclusion of my business in England, I found myself longing for better weather amongst a civilised people.'

'A damp backwater to be sure,' Flambeau acknowledges, reflecting on several parochial scenes of his recent past. 'Yet the company does have its charms.'

The other man casts Flambeau a sly sideways glance. 'Still making sheep’s eyes at that priest?'

Flambeau feels an awkward twist in his guts. Oh, he is not letting him get away with that one!

'Still trying to kill that professor?' he shoots back. The almost imperceptible flinch in his companion’s expression tells him he’s hit his mark.

' _Touché, mon vieux_.' The other man turns to look at Flambeau full on, and raises his glass in an mocking salute, an uncharacteristic sadness to his smile. 'Ironic, is it not, that what we both want most, neither of us can steal?'

Flambeau meets his gaze steadily, then returns the toast with all sincerity. 'To hearts that cannot be stolen.'

A momentary silence descends between the two, then Flambeau turns back to contemplate the shelves behind the bar. Mentally he speculates which spirit his friend would most appreciate that evening.

'So you have no objection to my paying court to La Castafiore?' he asks, deciding that a decent single malt whisky will do nicely. An evocation of Scotland will go down well, in the circumstances.

'None at all. Why would I?'

'A courtesy,' Flambeau says simply. He grins at his companion. 'After all, you were once a _v_ _ery_ interested party.'

The automatic grimace on the other man’s face was worth it, as is seeing the flash of temper momentarily break that carefully suave demeanour. He will pay for that later tonight, Flambeau knows, and he could not be more delighted at the prospect.

'For the last time, I did not have an affair with Castafiore!' his companion growls. 'Not even so much as an ill-advised fumble! As you well know.'

Flambeau smirks, and takes a last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out.

'You must admit, the rumour hasn’t done your reputation any harm. Nor hers, as a matter of fact.'

But his friend is still quietly fuming.

'Wretched paparazzi!' he mutters, the knuckles gripping his glass turning white. 'And that awful woman won’t do anything to deny it.'

Knowing where the man’s temper is in danger of going, Flambeau reaches across and prises the glass from his hand before it shatters. It is enough to break the mood, and his friend recovers his composure.

'Anyway,' his companion says, covering his lapse by stubbing out the remnants of his own cigarette. 'You are welcome to her. And I wish you luck. You’re going to need it.'

The smirk is back, and under the circumstances Flambeau doesn’t care for it. Besides, this is getting tiresome, and they have much more interesting business to attend to.

'You have already dined, I take it?'

'I have.' The other man puts away his cigarette holder and rises from the stool. 'You have a room here?'

'As you well know.' Flambeau casts him an arch look. Still, the niceties must be observed. 'You are welcome to join me for a nightcap, Colonel, should you wish.'

'An invitation that has appeal,' Olrik replies smoothly. He flicks an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket cuff. 'I am at your disposal, Hercule.'

Flambeau smiles, and orders the bottle of single malt from the steward, to be placed on his account. They are both competitors in the Game, he reflects, as he leads the way out of the bar and Olrik follows closely at his shoulder. But they do not always have to play alone.

**Author's Note:**

> The story behind Olrik's "affair" with Bianca Castafiore I will reserve for another occasion.


End file.
